I watched Part One of "The End of Time" last Friday on Christmas. I really did not care for it. Nevertheless, I tried to give it the benefit of the doubt. "Be patient," I told myself. "Maybe it won't really make sense until you've seen Part Two." Well, now I've seen Part Two and the story still doesn't make any sense. Look, I know that Russell T Davies is, by definition, a professional writer. But just because someone gets paid to do something doesn't mean they're any good at it. Look at Britney Spears, for example. Or Uwe Boll. There are many, many people in the world who are completely incompetent at what they do for a living, yet somehow make enough money to continue doing it. I have now added Russell T Davies to my own private list of incompetents.
I'll write a more complete review of this story in a couple of days where I'll articulate precisely why "The End of Time" was a terrible example of Doctor Who - nay, of television - nay, of storytelling in general. Until then, you can be sure that I was severely underwhelmed.
Come on, Steven Moffat. Fix this mess next season! I want to like Doctor Who again.